The Monroes: Summer Days
by OllieOfFreeOxen
Summary: A while after Adam starts the apocalypse, killing 99.9% of people, and starts to rule the world. Part II of IV. This part includes Michael, Charlie, Kate, a spankin' new world, and some visitors from what's left of the old world. Pre-Season 3.
1. Michael

Part One may be found here: **/s/4478609/1/**

Please excuse any confusing author's notes as up to Chapter 11, this was posted with Part One until I figured that the story would be way to big and overwhelming to publish in one fanfiction. That isn't to say that the parts aren't related, of course, but they can be read in a fairly enjoyable manner by themselves, if you would like. For example, if you didn't like the way Part One was going, you're probably going to like this one a lot better.

Thanks. :)

* * *

**Part Two**

**Chapter One: Michael**

The clock flashed six a.m. and blared very loudly.

If Michael had been sleeping on his bed, he would've fell off from the way he twisted and rolled himself to hold his head and ears to try to muffle the sound. After ten more beeps, he came to his senses and remembered to somehow use his hands and press the button so that the sound would stop.

Six, he thought weakly. Early.

A second later, he pushed himself to sit up and lean upon his bed. "Shit!" he swore, seeing the clump of blankets he fell asleep on the floor with. He also squeezed his head with palms. It really hurt.

"Hey," he swatted his fingertips at the clump. "I need to jet. Can you get across the Channel by yourself?"

The clump stretched itself out, revealing a head of soft sandy hair and smiling face. The girl smiled, looked into Michael's eyes, crawled up to her hands and knees, and pressed her lips against his.

"Stop it!" Michael pushed her face away and grasped his head again. Shit, shit, shit, he thought. As if from an angel, he grabbed the bottle of water on his bedside table and chugged most of it before remembering the girl next to him.

The girl took the offered bottle thankfully and finished it off. She was beginning to come to her senses as well, and took note of where she was. "Where am I?"

"London," Michael combed his hair through his fingers and started going through his drawers to find something to wear. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his day clothes last night, and neither had she.

The girl blinked wildly and looked about the room. She could remember a window... yes, the wide window that overlooked a park, and that someone told her it was Queen's Park. She also remembered the window on the ceiling that had a terribly romantic view of the stars. Apart from the country blue paint of the wall, the whole place was new to her. "Oh," she said, still dazed.

Michael quickly took off his black shirt to pull over a white one, which he accompanied with a black vest. "I've got to go, but I can take you as far as the Channel."

"Channel?" the girl tried on the word.

"The English Channel. The strip of water that separates London from Paris? Oh well, c'mon." He threw his trousers in the corner and put on a pair of jeans. Then, he led the girl downstairs.

A younger boy sat on a stool at the kitchen's granite counter. He was eating a bowl of cereal and milk with a plastic spoon.

Michael immediately went to the refrigerator for some orange juice. "You know, you shouldn't have set my alarm for me."

The boy yawned. "With each and every tiny step you take towards being expelled, Mum puts a knife closer to my throat because I'm not helping you out."

The older brother finished pouring a glass for himself, and offered one to the girl. She declined. "Bull. You could've just told me today was going to be Monday so I could set it myself and get my own hangover water."

Charlie took in another spoonful of his cereal. "It's Tuesday," he said. "You missed school yesterday."

While Michael made no reaction to this, his brother noticed the girl. "Hi," he said kindly.

"Good morning," said the girl.

Charlie blinked. "What she say?" he asked his brother.

"She said, 'Good morning,'" responded Michael.

Charlie finished his breakfast and stood up. "Oh. Er, guten tag," he said to her.

The girl smiled uneasily.

Michael sighed. "You're an idiot. She's French."

"I know. That is French, isn't it?"

His brother shook his head in disgrace.

Charlie placed his empty bowl and plastic spoon in the dishwasher. "That's the third French girl since the end of summer. I thought you were starting to go to Madrid more often."

Michael leaned upon the counter, downing his orange juice. "Yeah, Gordo said we're going this Thursday."

"While you're there, can you pick me up some of those churros? I've been craving them for the past week."

Michael leaned in very close to his brother and looked at him with angel eyes. "Can you get me a ride to the Academy?"

He took a deep breath. "Yes..."

"Alright then, chocolate and churros it is."

-

About six minutes later, Michael and the girl were squeezed together in the backseat of Charlie's car. The hood was down, as it took after those old-timer convertibles, but without a trunk as the space under the seats was enough for cargo. It was also about half the size of an antique car in terms of width, and could only comfortably fit three people. Also, as it was a model specifically built for electrokinetics, it was painted with a signature electric blue with robin's egg blue upholstery.

Charlie walked up to his pride and joy, but noticed the extra passenger with a sigh.

"Where are we taking her? Dover?" he asked, taking off his shoes and placing his bare feet on the large metal panel at the floor of the driver's seat. They emitted a blue spark at the point of contact, and the car immediately retracted its wheels and hovered itself about a foot in the air.

With a yawn, Charlie put his hands on the steering wheel, and the car hovered to a height of about ten feet. He changed the gear and they were off.

Queen's Park was a lovely part of London all but two of its residences being unoccupied since Year Zero. Apart from the Fergusons, a couple with no children lived on the other side of the neighborhood. When they were younger, Michael and Charlie both imagines it to be an absolutely beautiful place before the virus, but now the neglected homes were taken over by chipped paint, overgrown plants, and a whole colony of cats. Nevertheless, this sort of emptiness allowed Charlie to drive so fast without running into one, so it was a fair trade off.

"I've never seen London before," the girl said suddenly, looking past the current residential estates to the city skyline.

Michael laughed. "There's nothing much to see," he said, commenting on the part of the city center that she referred to. "That there's the Old City. See the big-ass Ferris wheel?"

She nodded.

"That'd be the London Eye, and I guess people thought they were up real high when they got to the top of it. And that clock tower over there?" Michael pointed to the other side.

"Yes. Was it a church?" asked the girl.

Michael shook his head. "No, Parliament used to meet there. It's far too large for the government to use and maintain now. I think it's a museum of some kind."

By the time he had finished talking, they had already crossed the River Thames, and were heading towards the coast. It took ten more minutes to reach Dover, where the girl thanked Michael and bravely said that she could get on the ferry herself. It was only once he had gone that she remembered that she hadn't asked for his phone number.

About a half hour of driving later, the Academy came into view. Charlie sighed, and his car slowed, lowering to the ground and eventually extending its wheels to drive across the parking lot that sat cozily next to the pink brick wall that covered the entire monster of the building. They saw that they were not late at all as students from all across the grounds were climbing the walkway toward the two main entrances.

Charlie put his shoes back on and swung his bookbag across his shoulder. He asked Michael if he had his, but he responded that bookbags were for squares. In a snap, they both sighed in disgust, turned apart from each other, and approached the school from a different entrance.

* * *

**A/N:** Huzzah! The story continues! Sorry for the delay, but I'm not sure any of you actually care so, eh. Review please so that I can be happy. D You like making people happy, don't you? Doesn't matter if they're decent reviews or not, flaming es muy interesante, no?


	2. The Academy Generation

**Chapter Two: The Academy Generation**

"Your question, Mr. Pattinson, for one whole extra credit point is..." began the history teacher, Professor Snelling. He gave the class eyes of excitement and mystery, but out of the whole class, just one person snapped their gum at him. "What information was revealed to the world when the United States declared war upon Brazil?"

Pattinson looked as if he was seriously knew the answer to the question, but still asked "Which war?"

"The American-Brazilian War of 2014. The only war that we've studied in the past chapter," said Professor Snelling with disbelief.

Pattinson gasped and smiled. "Oh, I know this one! It revealed that Americanada was a complete pig and only attacked regions for their energy sources!"

Professor Snelling smacked his hand against his forehead.

"What? That isn't right?"

The teacher sighed and walked towards Pattinson's desk. "First of all, Mr. Pattinson, although that biased opinion is true in some hearts, that was not the answer I was looking for. The correct answer is that it first revealed that Brazil did in fact have nuclear weapons. Secondly, would anyone like to point out Mr. Pattinson's mistake? Something about Americanada and attacking regions?"

Most of the class stared blankly at the teacher. A few were daydreaming out the window, were passing notes in the back of the classroom, or didn't look as if they were mentally there. Michael raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Ferguson?" Professor Snelling asked, full of hope.

Michael yawned and rubbed his eyes. "May I use the restroom?"

The teacher stepped over to Michael's desk. "You know, Mr. Ferguson, I haven't seen you in class for quite a while. I wonder what you have been doing these few days that has made you so tired."

"Professor Snelling," started another student next to him. "Don't you mean who he has been doing?"

A smug smile formed on Michael's face. The whole class was suddenly alive, roaring with laughter. Once the teacher rolled his eyes and walked back to the front of the room, Michael gave his jokester friend a high five.

"Here I am," growled Professor Snelling, giving his students the evil eye, "teaching a class of monkeys who don't even know their primary school geography! Mr. Pattinson, the problem with your answer was that in this time of the American-Brazilian War of 2014, Americanada did not exist yet! In this time, there were things called countries, and instead of dividing the world into ten main government unions with regions based on their largest cities, there was over three hundred countries, some great and small, some divided into provinces or states, which where then divided into counties, and then cities. Instead of places like Glasgow, Europe or Tokyo, North Pacific, there were cities of countries like Glasgow, Scotland or Tokyo, Japan. Does anyone remember learning this?"

A few students grumbled and nodded their heads.

"This may be your last year of secondary school, but I assure you that I will teach you the last fifty years of world history even if-"

The bell rang. In seconds, the classroom was empty again. Professor Snelling sighed.

* * *

The whole week over the Southern Uplands of Scotland proved to be a dreary one full of overcast skies, yet each and every student of the Academy sat outside to eat. This of course included the Victorias, who, though their unexcused absence count had recently been rising, had always sat under the same tree since their group had formed in the first year of the school's operations.

A thickly built teenager with dark brown hair put a hand on the large linden tree, looked up into its leaves, and scowled.

"Hey Moses! What is it?" called his friend, a boy of darker skin and hair. He and Michael carried the lunches: three take-out containers filled with a different kind of curry and a fruit salad for Moses.

Moses squinted out across the grounds to where a small group of five boys and two girls sat at one of the picnic tables. "Swim team. They sat under our tree yesterday. Artie, remember to give them a piece of my mind," he growled.

"Those sons of bitches. Aren't they all first-generation scum?" asked Artie, giving the group a death glare.

Michael sat down and took out his curry. "No, at least one of 'em's second generation. Keeps bragging about his telekinetic Mum." The three of them burst out in laughter.

"Hoy, Babel. Where's Gordo? I even remembered to get him chicken curry this time and he doesn't show!" Artie frowned.

Michael shrugged. "Dunno. I suppose it's a hangover. It's a pity that they've passed that continuum law. He could've just when back in time and told himself not to take all those shots."

"Like he would listen to his own future self anyway," laughed Moses. They all agreed, continuing on with their joking in conversation. The only conversation of any value came near the end, from Moses.

"You know, I just got a transfer in... um, one of my classes, I don't know what the hell it is... but yeah. Her name's Dana. She's a transfer from Polish... er, you know that Polish region place..."

"Warsaw?" suggested Michael.

Moses nodded. "Right. Well, she doesn't speak. Nothing. Nada. I even heard from the teachers. A real live mute!"

Artie looked to Moses and grinned. Moses mirrored the grin. They both looked at Michael.

"C'mon guys," he rolled his eyes.

Moses and Artie started to stare him down. "C'mon Babel," Artie started. "Just last week you said that you could get anyone that goes to the Academy..."

"... without a dick." added Moses.

Moses stared into Michael's slightly entertained face. "Well, Babel. Here's your challenge. Let's see if you can charm a girl with your omni-lingualism..."

"... when she won't talk back!" finished Artie. The two of them just kept staring and smiling.

Michael scoffed. "Alright. Fair enough. I accept the challenge. Now, how much am I going to sweep from you?"

"I'll put up thirty quid," said Moses.

"No," said Michael to the surprise of the others. "The pound is weak. I want Euros."

Artie scowled. "Bull! Just walk on over to a bank and change it yourself."

"And waste all the time when I could be spending it? No, there's no use supporting a dying currency. Have some concern for the economy!"

The other two rolled their eyes and started to dig into their pockets. "You're really something, Babel. You know that?" sighed Moses, digging into his pockets.

* * *

**A/N:** Early update for every review, like I promised before. So, you know what would be quite awesome? Another review. Not to be pathetic or anything...


	3. The Certain Romance

**A/N:** I know this is odd of me, but I kind of wanted to update this chapter with the last one, and since I've got another review... :D FireLadyM, I could marry you. xD

Two very awesome things have happened that I forgot to add in the last Author's Note. First, Adam M. is an option as a fanfic character. Yay! Related to that, I feel like this is a little guilty space were I can obsess about Heroes a bit with other Heroes lovers, because when people at my school hear "Heroes," they say, "Yeah, that fat Chinese guy that's like, 'Yatta!' LOL."

So, I have a question. Does anyone feel like the word "bitch" is synonymous with Mrs. Petrelli? And that you're loving Sylar more than ever even though one episode ago, he was the most annoying character in the series? And the vice versa for Mohinder? Anyway, I have found out that our favorite character (coughadamcough) will be appearing again very soon. Huzzah!

* * *

**Chapter Three: The Certain Romance**

Michael sat down upon the bench that faced the Academy's west entrance. On the other side of the bench, there was a girl, who sat watching the sky with her knees propped up. She had frizzled and therefore damaged brown hair that touched her shoulders. Her eyes were brown as well. Her clothes were simple: a forest green long-sleeved shirt with high-rise bellbottoms.

"Hi," said Michael with a smile.

Dana merely moved her eyes to glance at him, but after a moment of disinterest, she looked up back to the sky.

The boy nodded. "So I've heard you don't talk."

The girl said nothing.

Michael tried again, saying the phrase in Polish. After the same response of no response, he tried again with different ice-breakers, this time cycling through French, German, Russian, then all of the Scandinavian languages.

Dana's chest only moved up and down as she stayed completely still and completely ignored him.

It made Michael angry. He stopped, took a deep breath, and just for kicks, tried Japanese.

This time, Dana did make a response. She glanced at him again, lifted her arm, and gave him a two-fingered salute.

Michael scoffed. She had some bloody nerve. He tried to play it her way, leaning back against the bench, looking so hateful about the world. He said nothing, but made out in sign language: "Well, you can go to hell."

The girl furrowed her eyebrows. "I will," she signed back furiously.

"Well, good! It would make me happy." Michael put down his arms and stuck them in his armpits, muttering to himself as he also looked up in the sky.

Dana did the same, now looking in the opposite part of the sky.

For the next ten minutes, that's all that they did as they both feverishly wished that their ride would finally pick them up.

But then, Michael remembered the bet. He sighed, saying aloud as he signed back. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"It's okay," she looked at him and said (or signed).

"Let's start over. Hi," Michael signed brightly. "My name is Michael."

Dana swallowed, but looked more interested than before. "Not Babel?"

Michael shook his head. "That's my nickname. Through my ability, I can understand any language, and then can speak it fluently just from listening to someone talk for a few minutes."

"Oh." Dana nodded, but still looked confused. "Why is your group called the Victorias?"

"For the era. It's when the British had the most influence that stretched over the entire world." Michael signed the next part rigidly, although it was still true. "We like to travel a lot. May I ask you a question?"

Dana sighed. "No."

Michael smiled. "What's your ability?"

"That's a secret," she couldn't help but smile a little as well.

"Okay," signed Michael awkwardly. "Then, may I ask you another question?"

"No."

"Why don't you speak?"

Dana paused for a second. She looked at Michael sincerely, then looked up at the sky, then at Michael again. "I used to have a big family with eight brothers and sisters. Then, the Angel took them away." She looked at him with a weak smile and waited for his reaction.

The Angel was one of the few common names for the virus of Year Zero. Michael's father explained to him that it referred to the Angel of Death, the tenth plague that God sent upon Egypt that killed in every household, but passed over the homes that had sacrificial lamb blood on their doors. Michael never thought that sacrificial lamb blood could be compared to a mesothalamus.

"I'm sorry," signed Michael slowly.

A red car pulled up to the entrance. The depressing mood seemed to wash off of Dana as she got up and waved Michael goodbye. She got into the car and smiled at him. Her face turned a lighter color, her eyes became blue, and her hair grew, changing from that dull brown to a smooth white blond. "Don't tell," Dana signed out the window, and the car drove away.

"Come one, an illusionist?" Michael couldn't help but saying it aloud to himself. "Bloody hell, how can she stand looking so ugly when she can look like anything she wants?" He sighed and sat back into the bench. Well, shit.

* * *

Elene sighed and took a sip of her beer. The pickings didn't look good today. There were the usual quota of jackasses that just sat around the club arguing loudly about sports and other useless things. She had spotted a new group of university boys that didn't look too ugly, but every time she tried to approach them, they'd start chanting and were too busy taking shots. Perhaps, if no one good showed up, she would hold her ears and make her way to the dance floor.

Her eyes scanned the area again to check if there was anyone she'd missed. Well, there we go, she thought with an eyebrow of interest.

A new group of men had arrived, although anyone could tell that they looked young. Elene leaned onto the wall by the restrooms to get a better spot to focus her powers. The first one to order his drink was tall and skinny, with fair skin and hair that was dyed like a rainbow. He, like the other two boys next to him was thinking in English. "Damn, Athenians smoke like hell," she heard him think.

Idiot, she thought herself, and focused to read the thoughts of the fourth boy.

Elene leaned back and blinked wildly. An omni-linguist, eh? I can't keep up with all of these people thinking in Swahili or some made-up language, trying to protect their thoughts. Nevertheless, she sighed and looked lightly upon the young man. Yes, he was very good-looking, with lovely dark hair, but it was hard to tell in the room's lighting.

A second later, the omni-linguist boy's eyes were wandering and finally met with her gaze. He smiled, and then she smiled.

Half a minute later, the boy was at her side. "Excuse me, are you from Rome? Or perhaps Milan?" he asked in perfect Greek.

"No," Elene said incredulously. "I'm pure Athenian. Why do you ask?"

The young man furrowed his brows. "Then excuse me. You know, everyone is beautiful in Rome, and I thought a woman that is as beautiful as you are must come from such a place."

Cheesy, thought Elene, though she didn't quite care. Instead, she looked into his eyes. "You are excused," she said smoothly.

"But, you know, the Romans are terrible lovers. I wonder if-"

She couldn't take it. She took his chin and started to kiss him, and he did a very good job of kissing back. That is, until-

The boy backed away and started to cough. She asked if he was alright, but he just made out, "I'm sorry. I-" before getting into another fit and staggering into the men's room.

Elene leaned back against the wall. Fuck. Can't even kiss a man without making him sick. After another glance at the wave of disgusted men that came out from the restroom, she grumbled all the way back to the bus stop.

* * *

**A/N: **I've just had this fantastic idea. Instead of forcing you to write, "Love it, write more!" as a review, how about I ask some questions so that I may better serve you? Are you understanding the story so far? Is there any aspect you're confused about? It's been hard since I wanted it futuristic sci-fi, but I wanted the reader to know what's going on, at least somewhat. I mean, it's a totally different world, full of people with abilities and empty buildings and countries from the people who died.

On that subject, I realize I had 1 of 1000 survive the virus, which I did a lot of math with to get the right populations and all. In 2040, India, the most populous country is knocked to 1.7 million. The United States has a total population of 400,000. The U.K. has a new population of 65,000, with Greater London holding just 4,500. But of course, people migrate to the largest cities for obvious reasons. I'm not sure if you all get how small these figures are in relation to the world now, but it is really odd to imagine, and I'll say that this, with abilities, is the main factor of how this new society is run. So if you don't get that, it would be really hard to get the story.

Nevermind. I'm so lame.


	4. The Marshmallow Revelation

**Chapter Four: The Marshmallow Revelation**

"You're sick," said Adam, smacking a pile of test results on the bedside table.

Michael quickly pushed himself to sit up in his bed. He was in a hospital room, with white walls, white linoleum flooring, and a white French door, through which he could see a bodyguard standing outside. "No, I'm fine. It's just Mum. She's been telling me to stop going out, but-"

"Your mother can't induce vomiting, not to mention can't affect you while you're six hundred kilometers away in Athens. Look at this, you're viral levels are skyrocketing!"

The boy took the test results in his hands and skimmed them, seeing only a bunch of numbers and a million medical terms that meant nothing to him.

Adam sat himself down on a stool. "And Charlie's been telling me that every few months, you spend your whole weekend cooped up in your bed and won't come out of your room. Don't you dare tell me you're not sick!"

Michael kept his eyes away from his grandfather. At the moment, he was more angry at Charlie, who was completely fine with telling lies to his parents, but always broke down in front of Adam.

"Michael- Michael!" said Adam sharply. "You will look at me when I am talking to you!"

He swallowed and slowly turned his eyes to look.

Adam stared at him intensely. "I've kept my word so far and haven't told your parents anything, not that your mother would know what to do with you and not that your father would even give a damn, and not that I'd even give a damn if you slept with half of Europe," he hissed. "The least you could do is expand your diet to more than just beer and curry."

Michael quickly nodded, not wanting to stare into Adam's eyes any longer.

Feeling this, Adam broke his stare. "I'm just asking you to try to be healthy. Get outside, get some fresh air or catch up on your sleep once in a while. Do you hear me? If you keep at this pace, you'll be stuck in a hospital room. Permanently. You're as good as dead, then," he sighed, and then looked lightly upon the boy for some response.

"Yes," said Michael uneasily. "I'll try."

"Good," said Adam. He got up from the stool and went for the door.

"Sir?" spoke Michael suddenly.

Adam stopped. "Hm?"

Michael took a deep breath. It was usually unlike him to speak up in front of the man, especially with such a rude question, but being such a stubborn teenager... "If you're so keen on keeping your grandfatherliness a secret," he asked as Adam twitched slightly, "why did you bother to come to see me at all?"

Adam paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Can't you just say, 'thank you?'"

When Michael did push out a word of thanks, Adam was out the door and down the hallway with his bodyguard close behind.

* * *

Gordo sighed with relief and laid back on the sand to look up at the clear night sky. He took a marshmallow and plopped it in his mouth. It tasted stale. "Artie, what'd you buy bad marshmallows for?"

Artie looked insulted. "I didn't," he said. "Well, I mean, they were on sale and you know how stuff doesn't get bad until a few months after the expiration date."

"Why'd you have to buy them on sale? Weren't the full priced ones good enough?" demanded Gordo crossly.

Artie sat up suddenly and brushed the sand from his hair. "Listen. In the whole entire world, there's only one company that still makes marshmallows, and they're based in Vancouver," he explained. "And the company is so small that they can't hire anyone with a good enough ability to ship 'em for them. So-"

Gordo chewed and swallowed the rest of the marshmallow. "So why didn't you ask me to take you to Vancouver?" he asked. "I could've taken you shopping and we'd have a whole shitload of unexpired marshmallows."

Artie froze for a second, but didn't dare say a word. He was never one to admit his mistakes. For a while, except for the wind, the ocean, and the cicadas that chattered loudly in the trees behind them, it was quiet.

"You know," started Moses after washing one of his fluffy white treats down with a swig from the wine bottle, "since Babel's off getting his rest in the hospital or what ever, I suppose I should tell you two." He passed the wine to Gordo, who also took a swallow.

"Hm?" asked Artie. "What?"

Moses looked up woefully at the clouds that were blowing over to cover nearly half of the stars. "Babel's mum is having an affair."

"Good," said Gordo. "Her husband's an asshole."

"What?" gasped Artie. "How'd you find out?"

Moses continued, "I was down by Fleming Street when them weeds started gossiping. So, I asked them where this shady lady went, and there she was, just down the street. I promised her that I wouldn't tell any of you guys, but just so you know. Don't tell Babel, yet."

"Shit," said Artie.

Moses ate another marshmallow whole. "Yeah. Shit."

"I hope it doesn't ruin Christmas dinner," said Gordo before taking another swallow of the wine. "I'll miss Mrs. Ferguson's half-cooked turkey. And her cookies that always tasted like soap no matter how much sugar she'd pour into the mix."

They all laughed and nodded. Artie laughed especially hard. "Moses, do you remember the time she forgot about you and made steamed asparagus?" Both Gordo and Artie started laughing so hard that it became difficult to breathe. "And you were freaking out. I mean-"

Moses scowled. "That wasn't funny. Most of those asparagus weren't fully cooked. They were screaming and-"

"No," interrupted Artie. "Mrs. Ferguson was just hilarious. She got so upset and kept apologizing like you'd never forgive her."

Moses leaned back and sighed. "Yeah. I remember. I think she swore herself off of eating vegetables in front of me for the next year."

"How about you, Artie?" Gordo asked suddenly. "Wasn't that the first time that I met you when we were both invited to Babel's for Christmas? Weren't you that mad little boy who kept going on about how you loved God for killing all of those people because they killed your parents and 'hated our kind'?"

"Yeah, I must've been a sight," admitted Artie uneasily. "Though I feel kinda bad about it now." He stuffed a marshmallow in his mouth and washed it down with a swig of wine.

Moses sighed and smiled. "You know what I remember real well? I remember us saying that we'd never get real jobs so that we all could just live in Babel's house until we keeled over and died." He gave a chuckle. "At least that part hasn't changed a bit."

Gordo and Artie gave Moses a curious eye.

"What?" asked Gordo. "Did we really say that we were going to stay in Babel's house forever?"

Moses blinked and sat straight up. "It was you who suggested it!"

"Oh? Well, you know..." started Gordo, who was also tired of laying down. "I've been thinking about getting my teleport license."

"What?! Why?"

"The whole world knows that space and time benders are real rare. So, when they get hired by trillionaires and world leaders who need to get across the world in a nanosecond, they make a lot of money." He took a drink of the wine, and looked at the sky. "I figured that for how much I'd get paid, I'll be able to retire at thirty. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll be a teleporter for some politician and I can teach 'im to be less of an asshole," he finished cheerfully.

Moses rolled his eyes, but started to look at his other friend. "What about you, Artie? What are you going to be?"

Artie swallowed and propped himself on his elbows. "Well, I was thinking of training into the government as a spy."

"But all the spies are No-Sees or illusionists," said Moses, who furrowed his brows.

Artie shook his head. "No, because even though people can't see them, a bunch of people always run into No-Sees and then they're dead. And all the illusionists have to deal with human interactions and have to know absolutely everything about the one they're impersonating or else they're dead, too. When you're an faunamorph, you change yourself into a fly or something, and then just listen in on their conversations."

Moses scowled. "So, what? After years of saying that the state was a complete shithole, you're both going in to work for the government?"

"Well yeah," shrugged Gordo. "They're the only people that pay well enough for abilities like ours."

Moses had pushed himself up to stand. "Like 'ours'?"

Artie sat up straight. "Yours, too. There's a bunch of millionaire treetalkers. They're er... what do you call them?"

"Agricultural Consultants," nodded Gordo.

"Agricultural Consultants? What a load of bullshit! Do you know what they do?" asked Moses, furious. "They ask cornstalks why they won't grow and then sit there and listen to their complaints about the taste of the fertilizers and lack of good sunshine," growled Moses. "It's the most completely idiotic job in the world. It's just ridiculous!"

Gordo and Artie stared at him. Moses sighed and plopped down beside them again. He chugged the rest of the wine and wiped his mouth with his arm. They all listened to the waves roaring with crashes and the cicadas trying to communicate over it.

"So what are you going to do?" asked Artie.

Moses was still looking intensely at the ocean. "I'm making my own marshmallow company."

* * *

A/N: Woo! New episode tonight! How did I ever survive Mondays without my Heroes, I wonder? Oh right, I wrote a novel-length fanfiction. Ha.

This chapter's questions are again, if you understand and believe the characters. Adam keeps dancing in and out of his characterization, I know that already, so yeah. On a second note, can any of you guess the origins of the nicknames of Gordo, Artie, and Moses? Bet you can't! Because they're obscure and don't hardly relate to anything anyway. Answers will be revealed next chapter. This is my attempt at an interactive fanfiction, isn't it just pathetic?


	5. The American

**Chapter Five: The American  
**

As if fading in from a strong spot of sunlight, the Virgin Mary came towards him. She was glowing, brightly, wearing veils of bright blue and white. She smiled and glided along the cobblestone street, and he was sure that anyone could see her if only anyone was on that street.

Mark gasped. He was shaking, and his mind felt like it was about to explode, so at last, he lifted his hand and reached out for her. And he could feel it- feel her taking his hand with a tingling sensation and at long last, he smiled.

* * *

"Hey, are you okay?"

It was a very stupid thing for Charlie to ask. Of course this man, this scraggly unshaved man laying on the side of the road, reaching out towards him with a pale senile face was not okay. He was dressed strangely, with jeans and a shirt at least twenty years out of date, which had the mud and dirt to show for it.

After a few milliseconds of recognizing the signs of the Virus, Charlie took down his pack and scavenged around for a case that contained a needle, a syringe, and a vial of a red liquid. The man waved his hand out at him again, and so Charlie took it.

* * *

"So you're British? What made you come to the States?" The man, who identified himself as Mark Finchley, took a sip of the mysterious milky brown liquid and then tried to scrub the bitterness off the tongue with the top of his mouth.

Charlie laughed. "British? Hell, I'm a Londoner. I've just done my secondary schooling, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go to University yet. That and my dad's on the edge of getting remarried, and also my brother's just been engaged to an illusionists, so it's real uncomfortable being single within all that. So, I remembered that I've always wanted to go to New York. You know, the Forgotten Frontier!" He stirred in a splash of half-and-half into his coffee and drank it without a second thought.

Mark pushed his coffee away from him. "But you're in Maryland," he said. "Are you taking a roadtrip?"

"What?" Charlie laughed again. "Merry Land? No, we're in New York. That's far from any 'Merry Land.'"

"No, I mean Maryland. The state." Mark looked confused.

Charlie pressed his lips together and jammed through his back pocket to find a map. "Look," he said, smoothing out a map entitled, 'The United Regions of Americanada.' It showed nine brightly colored areas whose borders were not the old state borders, but were contoured lines around the circumference of nine red large dots. He pointed to their location, which was nearest to a very small red dot labeled, "Baltimore."

Mark grasped the map in his hands. Baltimore was contained in a pink area that stretched over the dots labeled, "Washington D.C." and "Boston" and went up to Lake Ontario. He then continued to inspect the whole map, bringing his fingers lightly over the entire land mass.

At first, he felt empty and his appetite dropped, but after a few moments of realization, he remembered that he really didn't care. "Really?" he said, very interested. "Americanada?"

He held his head and started to burst out in laughter. "That has got to be- the most-" He bent over in the booth to try to contain himself.

"Mark? Mark!" Charlie eyed the diner suspiciously. "Stop! You're making a scene."

Mark pushed himself off the table to sit up. "A scene? We're in the middle of fucking nowhere!" He face was already red from laughing.

Charlie looked around the diner again. It was empty, except for the sounds of frying coming from the kitchen. It seemed that the waitress was the cook as well. "Well, alright," he sighed and took a gulp of his coffee. "What's so funny? Americanada?"

Mark put up a finger. "Once there was America," he said, then put up a finger from his other hand. "And then there was Canada." He smashed the two fingers into each other. "And then there was Americanada!" He burst into laughter again.

Charlie looked suspicious. "How old are you?" he asked.

"I'm.. I'm uh.. twenty-one," Mark said, and the bursts of laughter were getting weaker.

Charlie leaned into the table, looking slightly uncomfortable. "And you're... Well, you know, so you're..."

"I'm what?"

"Well, you're... you're human?" Charlie raised a brow.

Mark's laughing was now gone completely. He now looked suspicious of Charlie. "Yes..."

Charlie blinked.

Mark blinked.

"Just a human? Nothing else? You don't have any... er... special abilities or anything? Like psychic visions or increased learning ability or anything?"

"No..." said Mark, confused.

"So you've never seen the outside world until now?" asked Charlie, very curious.

Mark looked down. "No," he said.

"So, what? You've been living under a rock?"

* * *

Mark hadn't been living under an actual rock. He actually lived in a specially made building under Schaefer's Head, a mountain located in the south of what was previously called Pennsylvania. It was a colony and it really didn't have a name, but to the six hundred people living inside it, it was referred to as "Here," just as the world outside it was referred to as "There."

A professor from the University of Pennsylvania had constructed the glass dome about sixty years ago when he was completely positive that it would save a part of the human race when the Yellowstone Caldera erupted. People told him that even if the supervolcano did blow up, it would not wipe out the population of Pennsylvania, but he told them that it was better to be safe than sorry.

He got his chance to save his species on January 1st, 2040. Living in his home in the middle the woods, he watched from his television set as the news reported a sudden outbreak of a flu created by an unknown virus, he gathered all of the families in his area that had not been in public recently, and from his containment suit, checked every single one of them for the virus. The people who were infected were turned away along with anyone they had been in physical contact with. Many were turned away, but as the news started reporting deaths, the uninfected families started packing their things and stocking enough supplies to last a century.

Mark was two when the virus struck, and didn't remember anything from before he lived in the colony. It was an okay place to be. Well, it really was just a building with an endless amount of rooms. Every family had their own living quarters and a bathroom. There was a community cafeteria that everyone ate in the designated times, always filled with enough fruits and vegetables grown locally from lamps that were designed to replace the sun. On the four holidays of the year, Easter, Independence Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, they had chicken. They never celebrated New Year's Day, but it was recognized it just to keep track of time.

They also had a room that acted as school, which is where Mark learned everything from Mathematics to the Sciences to proper English and to American and World History. Pride for America was very important in the colony, as they saw themselves as the seeds of humanity for the country once it was safe to come out.

Other than the water, which was pumped from the outside world through four filters, nothing every came into the colony. It was completely a closed system, and it was Mark's world. All he knew was walls and what he could read from books, see from pictures, or watch from movies. The outside world intrigued him, but it was common unsaid knowledge that it was better to forget what was There, because within three days of you stepping out, you were dead. In fact, the colony never had to execute anyone for breaking laws. They just sent them outside.

At twenty-one years old, Mark was getting tired. He was always the one in his generation most fascinated by movies, which all seemed to be about unreality. But he couldn't take reality. At his age, he was done with schooling, and was expected to marry and reproduce. After all, that was the whole idea of it: survive and reproduce.

He said he tried it. He had been with a girl, named Shirley, who he had known all his life, since it was impossible to meet anyone new after sometime in such a small community. And she said she loved him, and they were set to marry until she turned out pregnant, and it wasn't his child.

He threw in the towel. He was sick of it. He was sick of looking at pictures and reading books about people living. He was sick of not living, but instead just surviving within the mint green walls. He couldn't sleep, and he stayed in his room, refusing to come out. There really was no point to just keep rolling along, was there?

The doctors said told him he was having a nervous breakdown. Mark agreed. He petitioned to the committee to let him go out There. After some days of discussions, they figured if he wasn't going to contribute to the community, it was the only thing to do. They also told him that if he was still healthy and alive in a month, he could come back. They didn't expect him to come back.

And so, he bid his crying parents goodbye, and went through the five self-cleaning containment chambers to the final bolted door to the outside. For the first time, he looked back and realized that he had been living in a mountain.

"It was beautiful," Mark said. "I remember the first time I saw the sun, and the moon, and the stars. I don't think I could describe it. I mean, I was crying. It was just the most beautiful thing I had ever seen."

* * *

**A/N: **How about that last episode? Kind of sucky; I hate the alternate-kinda-sorta-not really future episodes, and that Claire! Blech! All of my favorite characters are going evil! I guess that's the point though, eh? And five seconds and one line from Adam just made the whole week worth it.

In case you were wondering, Gordo gets his name lamely from Flash Gordon, that superfast superhero. Except, he's a teleporter, so it doesn't really fit. It also is sort of a pun as he is extremely skinny and "fat" in Spanish is... yeah. Moses is so named from the Moses of the Bible to whom God spoke as a burning bush. His ability is like Micah's, but he can communicate with plants instead of computers. Yes, I did have fun with that one. Finally, Artie is not short for Arthur, but for Artemis, the Greek goddess of the forests and the hunt. The others just loved naming him after a girl since they started their friendship in primary school, after all.

Question of the Chapter is... there is no question of the chapter. I feel really guilty in trying to milk the review cow. Just review if you'd like, say if you liked the chapter, liked Mark's story, and all. Think it's somewhat realistic considering the circumstances? Or not? Okay, that is a question, but you really don't have to answer it.


	6. The Inabilities of Caffeine

**Chapter Six: The Inabilities of Caffeine  
**

"The first day," said Mark, kicking at a rock off the side of the road, "was the best day of my life. Well, until today, of course."

They had finished their meals, Charlie having a Rueben sandwich with Mark having a multitude of things from a pile of buffalo wings to a plate full of pickles. They then set off on to the road towards Charlie's next place he wanted to see, Washington D.C. He only had a moment to explain why he hadn't brought his car because he wanted to listen to the rest of Mark's story.

"I was happier than any man on Earth," Mark continued, "and I walked through the woods to the next town I could see. It was deserted of course, but it still was amazing to see all these buildings like they had come straight out of a movie. Three towns south of that, and I spoke with a small family on a farm. That's when I learned that there was people that did survive. You know, special people like you," he nodded at Charlie. "But I didn't stay anywhere very long. I started feeling the symptoms just as I left there and I was determined to see as much of the world as I could before I kicked the bucket. And so, that just about brings me up to speed." He stopped walking.

Charlie backed up a few steps, and simply looking at him.

"When I saw you, I was just on the brink of death, right?" asked Mark.

Charlie nodded quietly.

"Well, I think..." Mark furrowed his brows. "I really thought that you were the Virgin Mary."

Charlie laughed a little. "Why, do I look like her?"

Mark shook his head, and couldn't laugh. "Well, you stuck something into me, didn't you? So there is a cure?"

Charlie frowned and shook his head. "It wasn't a cure. It was blood. Usually on the black market, it goes about ten thousand dollars for ten milligrams, but my grandfather gave me some in case of an emergency."

"Blood... that cures the virus?" asked Mark.

Charlie shook his head. "Not only that. It can cure anything, any disease and any wound. You could have both your arms and legs chopped off and have AIDS, but just a vial of the blood of a self-healer would grow them all back and completely cure you. The only thing it can't do is grow back a head or bring the dead back to life," he took a glance at his watch and started to walk.

Mark immediately followed him. "So what's the problem? Can't they make a vaccine or something from it?"

"No," he said shortly. "I mean, in the beginning, when the virus first came about, a few people did heal people with their blood, but through all the chaos, people didn't learn about it until it was too late. Actually, most people still don't know that such things exist and the Government doesn't tell anyone so that people don't go hunting down self-healers just for their blood. And self-healers are so rare that they couldn't donate enough blood to save all of the underground humans. Plus, what would we do then?"

Mark looked insulted. "What then? We'd save the human race!"

Charlie's voice became very quiet. "But the world has been completely rewired. It'll be hard to find place for people without abilities." He swallowed. "See, when people meet, the first thing they ask after the greeting is, 'What do you do?' The ability isn't just an extension of who people are. It's who they are. Their entire lives are fitted around their ability. Do you think I wear gloves and use plastic utensils for nothing?"

"Listen to me, Charlie. It could work! We just have to find a way to fit everyone in. I mean, we have to! This isn't just some hypothetical situation." Mark grabbed Charlie to look at him. "This is actual people. This is reality."

* * *

The executive office for the Union of the Reigons of Europe was bustling. It was like this everyday, of course, and Adam had just recently taken notice of it. For the first time in a long time, he noticed that his personal office, even with its frosted glass doors and walls, was actually not as big as when he first entered it. The walls were clean and shining, but they were what they were, and that was plain. Behind him, the three windows that overlooked the city of Paris were completely transparent, but Adam had looked through them so much that he could've been blindfolded and still have painted an exact picture of it. He also looked beyond the hundreds of papers that crowded his desk, and into the actual desk itself. He had forgotten how much effort he put into getting a desk made of Brazilian rosewood. It really was quite beautiful.

Adam sighed.

His private assistant knocked and quickly let himself in, letting in a short burst of loud talking. Once he closed the door, the room was silent.

"Mr. Prime Minister, sir," Mr. Wegener started, reading off a stack of papers. "Your schedule today is as follows: At seven, you are to attend a conference with Prime Minister Harding and President Pascual. At ten o'clock, there is the Commencement Ceremony at Gerard Clifford Academy. I have your speech here." He handed Adam a page of his stack.

"At noon, there is a meeting with the Department of Transportation, followed promptly at two with the Department of Housing and Zoning. At four, you have an appointment with Sydney to discuss a possible collaboration on a historical monument, and at seven, there is the Honorary Dinner for the Madame Perrota Foundation. Will there be anything else, sir?"

Adam laid the commencement speech upon another pile on his desk and simply twirled his pen through his fingers. He hadn't followed on any of it, but then again, he rarely did. "Yes, Mr. Wegener," he said lightly. "What's today's date?"

Mr. Wegener adjusted his glasses. "Sir, today is Wednesday, June 18th."

"No," said Adam, looking very intrigued with his pen. "What's the year?"

Mr. Wegener looked a little stunned, but then again being Mr. Allen's private assistant, few things truly surprised him. "Sir, the year is 2059."

The pen stopped between two fingers, and wavered as the hand holding it stayed completely still. Adam also stood still, but he sighed and looked lazily upon it, and he stayed that way, still as a statue, just for once admiring how black his pen was.

Mr. Wegener was getting uncomfortable. After a few minutes of this, he had to speak, "Mr. Prime Minister, is something wrong?"

Adam's glazed look did not flicker. "I'm tired," he said simply.

"If I may suggest, Sir, I can get you a cup of coffee or perhaps you would like to take a nap. You have twenty minutes before-"

"No," Adam growled. He slammed his pen on the desk and turned to face his private assistant with stern eyes. "I'm tired," he said again. "Is there anything on the schedule today that hasn't to do with infrastructure or community outings or charity dinners?" Mr. Wegener started to flip through his papers, but Adam stood up suddenly. "No? Is there anything this week that has to do with anything at all?" he demanded.

Mr. Wegener shuddered, and stopped looking through his papers. "Sir, are you sure I can't get you anything?"

Adam sat down and swung back in his swivel chair so that he faced his windows and the glory of Paris. "Yes," he said. "Get me Mr. Scott."

Within a moment, Mr. Wegener had left and returned with the politician.

"Mr. Wegener, you may go now."

Mr. Wegener bowed out slowly, cautiously.

"What may I do for you, Joseph?" asked Mr. Scott through a thick white mustache.

Adam swung around in his chair. "Walter... Walter, I'm tired," he admitted honestly.

Walter looked confused. "Sir, I'm not sure that I know what you mean."

"You know what I mean. Walter, it's been forty years. Forty years, and I can still remember that day at the airport when even the thought of the WTI sounded like a joke. Walter, aren't you tired?" He leaned forward in his chair.

"Not at all, Sir. It's only been thirty-six years for me," he said with a charismatic twinkle in his eye.

Adam smiled. "And I still remember the first day you were at our doorstep, a fine, strapping young man, ready to take on the universe with your hands tied behind your back. Some things never change."

Walter looked embarrassed.

"But not everything," he coughed with lowered eyes. "Walter, I miss the old days, those good old days when we could just go out on a whim and have target practice on the Company. Now, all the challenge and excitement is done." Adam got up, threw up his hands, and started to pace. "We've won the battle, and the war, and now all that's left to do is meetings! Conferences! Railway plans! Paperwork! Public appearances! Shop openings! Talk, talk, talk! Walter, do you know what I mean? I'm so tired of it."

Walter couldn't help but to smile. "What did you think ruling the world was going to be like?"

Adam couldn't answer that. He kneeled down in front of Mr. Scott, holding his hands in prayer as if he was begging. "Walter, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to be Prime Minister."

* * *

**A/N:** I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading thus far; really it does mean the world to me! Just the typical read and review from me and a note that the next chapter might not be on for another few days for sure, if not tomorrow. Thank you again!


	7. The Car

**Chapter Seven: The Car**

Sitting very comfortably in his air-conditioned, vintage 2023 edition SUV, Nelson only remembered the two young men that he passed as an afterthought, which was completely understandable as he passed them at about ninety eight miles per an hour. He slowed down and put his gear on reverse.

Once the two men were seated comfortably in the back, the SUV was at its top speed again. "So, what're yous do?"

"I'm an electrokinetic and Mark here's a psychic, but don't put it up to him. He's really not that good," said Charlie, the shorter of the two with a rounder face and lighter hair. The other looked just as friendly, but his five o'clock shadow was already coming in although it was barely two.

Nelson took his eyes off the empty highway running past them for about a second. "Psychic? Well, wouldn't you know! I'm a psychometric myself. Yup, I've always been interested in cars, so the opportunity was just perfect after Year Zero. Cars were much plentiful and once I checked to make sure no one had died in it or that it wouldn't get in a big accident, I started to fix 'em up. That's what I do for a livin'. I fix up and sell vintage cars."

"So you remember Year Zero? You were there when it happened?" asked Mark anxiously.

Nelson grunted. "Of course I do." He glanced at the boys. "But I suppose you don't, being so young and all. What? You want a story?"

The two young men nodded.

The man thought back, and started to speak in a grand voice. "I was in my early thirties at the time. And it was a horrible time, believe me, with people dying left and right and no one knowing what was going on. Course, I knew more than most people did. I had the Company, and they kept me up to date."

He looked to make sure that the young men were still listening intently. They were. "You see, before America had it's Gifteds Protection Agency, there was a privately owned group formed in the 1970s that was simply known as the Company, which was generally the group that started to track and study people with abilities.

"So you see, the Company realized early on in the first days of Year Zero that it didn't affect gifted peoples, but then again they were quite unorganized about it all, so they couldn't do much. The government's GPA had just been formed in the few months prior to the virus, and so half of the Company was working with the state while the other half continued to work on its own. So they really couldn't do anything. For example, they could say that the virus had been manmade all they wanted, but they didn't have enough resources to do anything about it."

Charlie interrupted. "So you actually believe that the virus was made on purpose?"

"Of course!" Nelson paused as he hit a groundhog. "A virus can't mutate on its own to bypass a selected race of people. It's just comforting to know that in some parallel universe, someone found out who did it and went back in time to stop the virus before it hit. It's just unlucky that our consciousnesses were caught in the one universe where it wasn't stopped."

"So what's happened to the Company now?" Mark asked.

Nelson shrugged. "Dunno. It just kind of fell apart after the virus, and I didn't hear much of them after it. I've heard rumors, though, that the founders still hang around the old headquarters to make sure kids don't hang around the nuclear waste or something."

"And where is this headquarters?" Mark asked again. Charlie looked to disapprove of him.

* * *

Katherine Bailey tapped her white leather boots with impatience. Her father was late. Every time the grandfather clock in her entrance hall ticked at the seven, she said this to herself, and it echoed up and about the marble walls.

She certainly did look ready for a nice birthday dinner with just her parents. Her blonde hair was pinned and tied up in a twist above her head. Her makeup was more defined than usual, and it even stood out among her rectangular glasses and pearl drop earrings. Her shirt was quite simple, a white button-up blouse with over-sized sleeves and a dark gray vest. She also wore a skirt, and it was the first time of her doing so in a little over a year.

A beep came from the outside. Kate sighed, exhausted with relief. However, when she saw the bright red vintage car with the only man she had ever hated, she couldn't help but to sigh in disgust.

"I see you've grown up," said Adam, peering from over his sunglasses.

The perfect response to this was, 'I see you've hadn't,' but Kate held her tongue. "Why are you here? Where's my father?" she demanded.

"Your father is running late at the office."

Kate crossed her arms, and refused to get in the car. "And he sent you as a chauffeur? Isn't he the cheapest man you know?"

Adam shook his head. "We've some business matters to discuss and even with all of my spare time, this was the only chance we had. And also, I offered to drive you. Now, get in the car. It won't take but ten minutes."

The girl supposed she had no choice, so with a grim face, she sat in the front seat and closed the door as calmly and respectfully as she could.

"Happy twenty-second, by the way," said Adam, changing the gear. "You've matured a far and long way."

Kate bit her bottom lip and grimaced. He was looking more disgusting by the second. "Mr. Allen, what do you mean?"

"I mean you've gone a long way from spitting in people's whiskeys to show your disapproval of them."

"That was nearly seven years ago," Kate sighed. Ashamed, she tried to look interested at the view through the window. In a low voice she added, "I thought you didn't notice."

Adam turned a corner. "I did notice, but I pretended not to and drank it anyway. Your father would have murdered you on the spot. What an unpleasant sight that would be."

Kate made no motion to thank him for the kind thought. They sat in rugged silence for most of the ride. Trees passed by in a flash, and Kate's crossed arm position just grew stiffer and stiffer.

Thunder added to the threatening and looming of the dark evening sky.

"If you've got something to say..." started Adam lowly.

"I've got nothing to say!" snapped Kate.

Adam gripped the wheel. "No, you have. Say it!" he shouted.

Kate swallowed and bit her lip. She turned to the driver. "Alright, if you so want it, I will. First off, although I am greatly pleased to hear your resignation as Prime Minister, I would say that it came in just about the worst time in London's history. It's absurd to step down when you know Europe's only a few years away from a Third World War.

"For six years, ever since you've had the title, Britain's legacy and culture about everything just about died during your reign, so much so that I can hardly find tea on any menu anywhere, be it a fine restaurant or the corner pub. I've been hearing children on the street asking where England is, which just about proves the success of your new educational system.

"Furthermore, you've done nothing for the welfare of minorities, the disabled, the poor, nor the handicapped. Even worse, you refused to act quickly in any major international disaster, including the North Pacific Job Crisis, the South African Drought of 2057, and many, many more. Shall I go on, Mr. Allen?"

Adam drove up to the parking lot. "And here I was thinking you hated me."

"You are by far the most insufferable man I have ever met!" shouted Kate and scrambled to get out of the car.

Adam snatched her arm before she could leave. "And you are by far the most pathetic woman I have ever met! Now, it's my turn to talk about you, and you will sit here and listen."

Kate sat, but dared not look at him.

"First of all, I take back my previous comment of your growth and maturity because I think I preferred you as a silly sixteen-year-old. At least back then you had the initiative to do something you were passionate about instead of acting like a polite young lady. Do you really think that your polite young lady act will gain you anything? Listen to me, Miss Bailey, in the real world, being polite will get you nowhere. As an adult, showing respect to another adult is absolutely pointless. You need to fight and act to get your idea across, and that is one thing you could never truly do.

"For example, you and your equally pathetic little father. It's your twenty-second birthday and you haven't even the nerve to tell him that yes, you actually do have friends, and that a dinner at a formal restaurant was not appropriate. Even less appropriate was for him to have more concern to take this opportunity to chat up a storm with me. I can tell he thinks very highly of you.

"Miss Bailey, you're one of the more intelligent women I have ever met, but you're weak. You're timid and weak and you always think for yourself, but you never act for yourself. What a complete waste of space. What a disgrace to this region. It's actually worse than if you had never existed at all."

He let go of her. Kate's eyes were watery, but she never did look at him as she exited the car.

Adam rolled down the windows and peered through his sunglasses again. "Tell your father that I'm sorry, but I couldn't make it. I've been feeling sick all day."

With that, he rolled up the window, backed up the bright red car, and drove off the same road that they had entered from.

* * *

**A/N:** Damn, I love this show. I love this show so freaking much. After last episode, everything makes sense! It makes perfect sense! I don't know if I'm glad about that or not, seeing as this fanfiction will have some plot faults, and because I had fun thinking about it in my own way. But damn! Everyone see that Pinehearst Company? Look familiar? Yeah? Yeah, the Company has some trouble now, doesn't it? By the way, during last episode, I'm thinking,

"Damn, Adam is so cool. He's so awesome. Oh, Hiro! Hahaha, I love you! You're so awesome, too- No! Wait! What? That wasn't awesome..."

In other news, you may know that I'm writing this story as I'm posting it, and seeing you all so far behind makes me cring. So I'll catch you up more, yeah?


	8. The Peanut Butter

**Chapter Eight: The Peanut Butter**

From every corner on every wall of the Company headquarters, the alarm sounded. Charlie and Mark backed up from their current position to get a better view of the flashing white light, but ultimately they did all that they could, and that is that they ran.

"Left, come on!" Mark pulled at Charlie's shirt.

Charlie retracted. "No, right. It's this way back to the way we came in!"

Mark shook his head. He couldn't believe they had to waste time like this. "Look, when we entered, we made a left, then four rights, backed up a right and then took the left, then a left, right, and then a right again."

"What are you talking about? After the three rights and the canceled right, we took a right, then two lefts," shouted Charlie. He held his head. "Whatever," he agreed to go left with Mark. "We just need to get out now."

Within five seconds, however, they were stopped short of their goal by an awkwardly grinning boy of about twelve years old.

Charlie usually didn't like to fight, but his instincts overrode this, and he flexed his hand. To his great surprise, this made nothing happened.

"Charlie, he's like, ten. We can take him," Mark argued playfully. He walked up toward the boy with intent to pick him up. The boy, however, merely looked at him, and Mark frowned. He felt so much weight and suppression that he couldn't even will himself to walk.

In the next minute, Charlie found himself in a cell. However, it was hardly a cell as movies described them, which were his main point of reference as he had never been in a jail. It was much bigger, cleaner, and somewhat more pleasant with unstained concrete walls. There was a bed, a desk, a chair, a newspaper, a toilet, and a sink.

It didn't seem like they were going to torture or interrogate him anytime soon, so he really couldn't do anything but look around. He read the newspaper, which was incredibly uninteresting. He inspected the walls, which were clean except for a few scratches at the head of the bed. He sat on the bed. He used the toilet. He laid upon the bed again, and stared up at the ceiling.

_Tsuukikou_, he thought, but he didn't know why he was thinking of it. _Tsuukikou means vent_, thought Charlie as if he was in Japanese class again.

Charlie shot up, and stared at the scratchings at the wall. "Tsuukikou" he read aloud. "Vent." Underneath the word, there was nothing but two kanji symbols that he could only assume were a name. He never had enough patience to learn kanji.

"Mark, are you there?" Charlie sat down on the floor and spoke into the vent, which he hadn't noticed before. "Mark?"

There was only silence. Charlie soon learned why.

"So it is," a blonde woman stepped through the cell's door. "Another Monroe."

* * *

For the past few weeks, Kate had the extreme displeasure of seeing Adam Monroe's face every Tuesday and Thursday. She did not know why the retired prime minister did have poker nights at her father's house, but she could only assume that somehow, the charm of the chandeliers or the beauty of the carpets or perhaps the look on her father's face when he lost on his own property were all just too much for him to be elsewhere.

In the past few weeks, ever since she had been so rudely insulted by the man, her group of friends at the University always had something to complain about the government, and she always found something to complain about Mr. Monroe. Over a short amount of time, it grew unreasonable and the obsession of hatred against the man grew so large that she could hardly keep herself from shaking once she was in the same room that he was.

What worried her the most was when she was shaking and she brought the tray of drinks to her father and his friends. Now, she always spit in Mr. Monroe's drink, be it cognac, whiskey, or rum. He ordered a world tour of drinks, as it seemed to be the only thing he gained except the satisfaction of winning. Kate's father always forgave any debt that Mr. Monroe had built up.

Mr. Monroe would always first look into the glass, as if to make sure it was there, and would always down it with a sideways glance at her. He always drank it.

It was a Thursday night. Kate's father had been absent the whole day because of a situation at the office, but he bid the rest of his friends to let poker night go on. Of course, it did go on, full of drinks and smoking, talking and laughter. The friends started to leave at about ten, but the last two played on until about one. The last friend left, and there she was, alone in the house with Mr. Monroe.

At the time, she was making herself a peanut butter and jam sandwich, always quite the night owl. There was a new jar of strawberry jam, and she couldn't quite open it. She tried everything from washing her hands five times to get a cleaner grip to running it under hot water to tapping the edges with her knife. It just wouldn't open.

Adam entered the kitchen. He watched her, amused, and the clock ticked the minute away.

"Do you need help?" he finally asked.

Kate glared at him. "If you even touched this jar, I would have to find some way to burn it!" she snapped immediately.

Adam barely scowled, and he turned on his heel to leave. "What did I say, Miss Bailey? Always words and never actions."

"Shut the fuck up!" Kate turned towards him. Her eyes burned with hatred. She was still holding the knife, and she grasped it tightly in her hand.

"No, you shut the fuck up," said Adam, mirroring the volume of her voice. "Stop it with your meaningless harsh words and do something for once."

Kate could see the glint of the knife from the corner of her eye. "Don't make me..."

Adam gave her a cold stare, and started to step towards her. "Go ahead. I see that knife in your hand. Go ahead, Kate, stab it right through my black heart!" Once he was up in her face, she had to take a step back with every step he took forward.

Kate was trembling, but she stared on into those cold, dark eyes of his. "Shut up," she whispered.

Adam made the next words like a challenge. "Kate, do you hate me? Do you really truly hate me?"

"I do," said Kate in her most sincere voice. She didn't have to act.

"Then do it!"

"Shut up!"

"Do it!"

Kate did it. She stored all that hatred in her hand, and she stabbed right through the right side of his chest. The blood stained through his shirt. He simply looked at it, and then she looked at it, and backed away against the counter, horrified.

This seemed to be what Adam wanted. With a grunt, he pulled the knife from his chest, and waited until it healed over. He also looked at Kate. His eyes were no longer glowing with anger, but seemed generally calm and pleasant.

"And now it's my turn," he said. The knife was still in his hand. It was still stained with his blood.

Adam leaned over and kissed her.

Kate couldn't move. The only thing she could do was stare, with the same frozen, terrified face. Her heart must have been pounding through the walls of the entire house.

Once again, Adam made a slower attempt. His nose and lips brushed over her cheek and it tickled her, so much that she almost began to smile. Then, much more tenderly and passionately, he kissed her again and then stood up straight.

Kate was even more frightened than she had been after she stabbed him. She really couldn't move. Her breaths were getting longer as she realized that this wasn't just some dream. She closed her eyes and replayed the moment, the tingle on her cheek and the breath on her upper lip, and just the whole intriguing taste of it.

When she opened her eyes, she did a very stupid thing. She kissed him back.

* * *

**A/N:** The vent thing? Totally my idea! I wrote this long before that episode came out, but I just thought that Adam, being locked in that one cell before talking to Peter through the vent, would've gave anyone else who ended up in his cell a hint that would somehow give the Company trouble. I don't think the Company checks their cells regularly for graffiti, do you? And if you were wondering, I did actually look up Japanese for "vent" and I made sure I got the right word.


	9. The London Eye

**Chapter Nine: The London Eye**

It was Sunday. Kate stood rigid with her hands stuck in her coat. She kept muttering, telling herself that she shouldn't have come, what a stupid thing to do, but she stayed in the London fog, watching for any sort of figure to come to greet her.

If only the clock hadn't struck to two the very moment after she kissed him. If only she hadn't been spellbound when he went off in such a rushed and completely calm state. If only she had realized what had just happened and asked him.

"Why?" she would've demanded. "What the hell were you thinking?"

In the next twelve hours following the incident, Kate came up with three explanations for this as she laid wide awake on her bed. Her body was in too much a state of shock to do anything logical, like sleep.

The first explanation was the easiest to accept. _Joseph Allen_, she thought to herself, _is a loony_. Long ago, he escaped from a psych ward and went on a few years to become a politician, later becoming Prime Minister of London. Or perhaps, the position had made him go batty, in which case he was not fit to be left alone in public.

If Kate had read about the incident in a tabloid, this explanation would be her immediate response. However, the whole thing did happen to her, and considering the way he usually acted in public, this wouldn't be an event so terribly out of the ordinary.

The second explanation was the fairytale explanation, and for a moment, it amused Kate. It was that Adam, from his time at the Bailey household, had grown to be fond of her, and couldn't help himself once they were all alone in the house. It just was that the part before it didn't quite fit, and that he wasn't some random man, but instead Adam Monroe, the tyrant that she had despised for years.

This explanation presented itself at around two-thirty and continued to reign through Kate's mind until the break of dawn. If he wasn't himself, if had been someone else, she thought, would she be more accepting of the situation? The answer was of course, yes, and her mind ran off with replays of how he brushed upon all of her senses with that second kiss. She could still remember the sweet smell of his breath and how her whole mind just evaporated once their lips met.

She fought with herself, renaming all the things he had done wrong in the world, but found herself instead counting all the things that he had done exceptionally well. For instance, he was the first to speak in the ashes of the virus, and he was arguably the most important leader of the rebuilding movement right afterwards.

At about six thirty, she came to realize that she wasn't going to be able to sleep after all. She dug through her closet, bringing out two cardboard boxes of pictures and newspaper clippings. She kept them to remind her friends of every mistake that the government had made in the past five years.

One cardboard box was entirely devoted to Adam Monroe. She sifted through it, reading each story, and studying each photo. Yes, people had told her that she had an obsession. What she figured out then and there was that it was an obsession of obscene hatred that looked remarkably like an infatuation.

The third explanation was the most practical, and although she thought of it first, Kate didn't dive too deeply into it until the middle of the morning. This was that Adam had intended this to happen. This, as in, her completely losing her mind. He had kissed her purely out of spite, which was a devilishly clever thing to do. Any physical wound she could recover from, but this would haunt her forever.

At around one o'clock, Friday afternoon, Kate finally fell asleep. She did not dream about Adam. Instead, she dreamt that she was at a deli counter, demanding a refund for some spoiled cheese that they had sold her. It was only once she was out the door that she realized that her cheese was blue cheese, and that the mold was the kind that made blue cheese what it was.

She woke with a start at eight in the evening and started screaming into her pillow. Not only did she have to deal with this Adam problem and a crazy-ass dream, but her Circadian rhythm was officially ruined.

The rest of Friday and Saturday went by as usual. After eating, Kate found that she could fall asleep again, but hardly woke refreshed the next morning. At noon and at three, she attended her University classes, not paying attention to either of them. Her friends took her out for a small bite to eat and then she saw a movie with them, although she couldn't say that she actually watched it. However, she did remember thinking that she must not have been acting very awkward since none of her friends asked if there was anything wrong.

At nine, her phone rang. She answered it.

"Kate, can you meet me at the Eye tomorrow at six?" It was Adam. The nerve he had to call her. How'd he get her number, anyway?

Kate wasn't prepared for something like this. "I can, but-"

"Alright. See you then." The phone clicked and a dial tone followed.

Kate could've kicked herself right then and there.

So here she was, getting more miserable and colder and angrier by the second as a gigantic Ferris wheel, the so-called London Eye, loomed above her. However, it was hard to become as angry at him as she was before, as most of her emotional capacity was lost in the area of confusion or were at a loss of what to think.

Adam came just as the clock sounded its sixth toll. The first she noticed of him was that he was smoking and walking quickly. Next, she realized it was the first time she had ever seen him wearing jeans. She tried to stare and glare at him, but he kept his eyes down until he stood next to her. "How are you?" for a second, he glanced at her face and started to walk slower.

Kate started to walk to catch up with him. "Don't ask me that," she replied, and added in a sarcastic voice, "but, how are you?"

"About the same," he said and sucked on his cigarette.

She scoffed. "Put that out. You'll ruin your health."

"My health?" For once, Adam cracked a laugh, but to her surprise, he put the cigarette out against a light post and threw it in the trash. "Terrible weather we're having," he said, looking up dismally up at the sky over the river.

Kate stopped walking, and she turned to face him with a concrete stance. Her eyes started to water. "Stop it! Just stop it!"

Once Adam stopped walking a few feet ahead of her, she continued, "I can't stand it. Just tell me why you brought me out here, and don't waddle about the subject, trying to seem clever and all. You've wasted enough of my time."

Adam turned on his heel to stand overlooking the river. Kate followed him.

"I'm sorry for what happened last Thursday night. It was completely inappropriate on my part, and well, yours as well." He gazed out over the river and still didn't look at her.

Kate grimaced. "Then, please tell me, why?" she asked with a fierce growl. "I thought you hated me."

"I did hate you. God, you were annoying," said Adam and finally looked at her, but then changed his view to the water again. "But, at least you were interesting. In fact, you were fascinating, and the more I saw you, the more I thought about it." He put his hands on the rail. "You would be wonderful. You were already smart, educated, funny, beautiful, and passionate, although you were most passionate about hating me."

Biting her lip, Kate listened on. No one had called her beautiful since her Leavers Ball.

"And I thought, 'God, she would be perfect. She would be a perfect ten only if she had the drive to follow through with her beliefs-'"

"Perfect? For what?" So it had been a test, then. He had forced her into stabbing him so that he could test how strong her backbone was. And so it was a fairytale explanation with an unconventional twist.

Adam finally looked at her, although it wasn't the same knowing smirk he always wore. He almost looked unsure of himself. "To marry," he said.

"Marry?" She wasn't sure that she liked the fairytale explanation anymore. "Are you serious? I'm only twenty-two, and you're... well..."

"Four hundred and some old?" Adam's eyes lit up. "Well, my pickings for a very small age gap are pretty slim. Anyway, there are more important things."

Kate leaned upon the railing and put her head in her hands. "God, I used to hate you. I used to hate you so much," she muttered. She had gotten over herself that she only disliked what Adam stood for, and that was the oppressing government. So, she got over the hatred. But marriage? Her mind had already been flipped upside down for the past few days before she even got to thinking of anything like that. Could she really spend the rest of her life with him? It was just too unreal. She wanted that blue cheese dream back again.

Adam seemed to sense her inner conflict. "I'm not asking you now. At this point, I am simply hoping that you can tolerate me being alive."

Kate put her head up. "I suppose I can," she said.

"Then, I thank you."

As Adam took her hand and planted a kiss upon it, Kate suddenly understood. Every doubt and question that erupted from the first kiss was silently answered at that very moment. Her mind was free and clear now, and she could truly blush and smile. He was just a man and was only a man. He just had a tendency to act like a child.

* * *

**A/N:** I do have a question of that chapter for this one. I have recently seriously planned this story out, and it turns out to be in four equal parts. Well, you've seen the size of one part already, about eleven chapters, so sorry about making it so long. The question is: Should I keep all these four parts into one fanfiction, or divide them, like having four books within one series? The point of dividing them into different fanfictions would be to attract more readers that would be less intimidated by the chapter count, and because each part really is a different flavor. Though, what I would be worried about is the confusion for not reading the previous parts, and the confusion you, my current readers, would experience trying to find the next part.

What do you think? Split it or keep it as it is? Thank you all for your consideration if you do reply/review, or even consider replying. Or rather, considering replying isn't worth the consideration at all, so you really should review with any sort of words you like. Thank you muchisimo.


	10. The Family Factor

**Chapter Ten: The Family Factor**

"I welcome you all to the British Society of Original Talented Individual's 40th Annual Christmas Party. Hopefully, you all know the drill by now, but for tradition's sake, I'll say it anyway. Food and tables in the East Hall, and music and general frivolity in here. Much thanks to the Birmingham Symphony Orchestra for the musical entertainment, and I believe we will have a collection of local bands playing later on in the evening. Eat, drink, and be merry. And...ah... right, does anyone have anything to toast to?"

Adam looked over the grand hall of nearly seven thousand people, some of which were original members of the WTI, most of which were children of the original members, and few of which were not related to any original members at all, but were granted special invitations.

A few calls of suggestion came up through the crowd.

"What was that? Yes, you there! What? To Father Christmas for making it snow? No, it wasn't him, it was just Miss Sullivan, but that's a good idea. A toast..." Adam raised his glass. "...to the little joys that make life worth living. Wasn't that a good one?"

The audience quickly agreed.

"Cheers!" Adam and the crowd was accompanied by a mess of shouts of "Cheers!" and _tink_s. The former prime minister downed his glass with two gulps and finished with a "Happy Christmas, everyone."

* * *

"Stop grumbling, Michael. You know Dana would've wanted you to at least pretend to have fun without her," said Charlie from a mouthful of pudding.

Michael grumbled, again. "It's practically a month until the wedding, and she's still not considered family by the Society's standards. It's completely ridiculous." He looked to the young man seated beside Charlie. "You're lucky that you're the only one of your kind. Not many can get into these being less than second generation, let alone no generation at all."

"Mark, relax," said Charlie. "He's only teasing. The only reason they still run these parties is because everyone's afraid of breaking traditions. Well, also because this is prime hunting grounds for them to find well-bred suitors for their well-bred children."

Mark sipped his champagne, looking warily into the crowd. "Yeah? So breeding into families? What does that do?"

Michael was being carted off by a past classmate, so Charlie took it upon himself to explain. "Well, you know that there's a ton of abilities, right? I mean, I wish I had my textbook from school. It was massive and chuck full of them. Anyway, right."

He started off, very animated with his hands. "There's three general groups of abilities: physical, mental, communicative, and- wait, alright, there's four. I forgot about ability abilities, like ability depressors and sensors and mimics, though no one's sure that they even exist. Got it so far?"

Mark nodded. "Following along so far."

"Well, within these groups, there are sub-groups of related powers, then they're further divided into more related powers, then into tiers, or levels. Um, well, take for instance, me. I'm an electrokinetic which is a physical power, in the sub-group of Elemental Kinetics.

"It's also considered a level two ability. The level one below it is pyrokinesis, which is the ability to create fire. But, have you ever heard of an electrical fire? I can create fires with electricity as well, and thusly, I'm considered more powerful. But then again, above me, there's level three abilities like magnetakinesis, which is the ability to create and manipulate magnetic fields, and you know that electricity can be made from magnets. So a magnetakinetic could make electricity, and thus could make fire as well in addition to his primary power. That makes it a level three.

"Now, it isn't proven, but most people believe that if you breed into the same ability group as yourself, you'll be more likely to have a child with a higher level under that ability group. But see, even if you don't have that sort of ability, you still carry that gene.

"For instance, me again. If I add all my ancestors' actual abilities and carried genes up, and you have me, a fourth generation physical and second generation mental. The belief sort of held true, giving me a level two power, but Michael must've been the milkman's son, because he got a level three communicative ability right out of the blue. A lot of that happens, but I suppose people want to believe that they're special for some reason just because of their lineage. If you ask me, it'll just lead to inbreeding and mentally disabled children."

Charlie seemed finished, so Mark just blinked and nodded, pretending to understand it all. It looked as if his friend had grown up with all of this so that he could recite it all off without it appearing complicated to him.

The next hour or so was fairly uneventful as Charlie was always being bothered with childhood friends or generally just everyone, as most people knew each other from when they were kids. Though, once Mark was introduced, just as a friend from Americanada, they seemed very interested in him. They asked him a multitude of questions that all indirectly translated to, "How did someone like you get into a place like this?"

The answer to this appeared at the table soon afterwards.

"So here is the famous Mark Finchley! And Charlie, too. Have a nice holiday, Charlie? See a lot of things?" Adam didn't sit at the table, but stood in between the young men's seats instead.

Charlie nodded. "Yes, I saw a lot of things. You wouldn't even believe some of the things."

"Well, Americanada is quite the interesting union," laughed Adam. "I was there, once, a long time ago. I wouldn't imagine going back."

His grandson looked interested at this, but he didn't dare question him. He simply averted his eyes to the table and picked up his champagne.

Mark blinked, not afraid at all to stare up at the man, but he promptly stood up in respect. "Excuse me, Mr. Allen, isn't it? I'm simply honored, Sir, for you to get me an invitation, and well, to be in your very presence, Sir," he said, and shook Adam's hand vigorously.

Adam took his hand away, but he looked pleased. "Nonsense, Mr. Finchley. Really, it was nothing. After all, how could I meet and speak with you if you couldn't even get in? Speaking of," he put his hand at Mark's back and guided him swiftly away from the table, "might I give you a tour of the building? There's some new pieces of art that you just have to see..." His voice faded as he and Mark disappeared into the crowd.

Charlie looked doubtfully into his champagne. No, that woman from the Company, that "Claire" was just telling a fit of lies. Nothing she said could've ever been true.

"I'm going to talk to you," she had said, "and then I'm going to let you go."

They spent a better part of two hours in that concrete room with crystalware filled with Pellegrino for Mark and him. The woman did nothing but talk, and it was all about this one man with a dozen names, but she referred to him as "Adam Monroe."

The thing was that she could've been telling the truth. This Adam had tried twice in his life to spread a virus, so it was obviously him that triggered Year Zero, but he had a hard time swallowing that his own grandfather was this Adam. He wasn't a very pleasant man, but he certainly wasn't the kind to murder 99 of the world population.

"How are you doing, sweetheart? Having a nice time?" Mei had come to sit up next to her child. "Where's Mark?" she asked.

"With Mr. Allen. I'm having a fine time, I suppose." Charlie sighed. "You know..." he started off absent-mindedly, but caught himself. "You remember how to read kanji?"

His mother nodded. "Yes, of course. Why?"

He asked for a pen from his mother's purse, and she gave him one. Then, he took a napkin, and made a series of lines just as he remembered the two symbols from the Company prison cell. "Do you know what it says?"

Mei took the napkin in her fingers very carefully, inspecting it. She blinked wildly, and continued to stare at it. Her breath got very shallow.

"Where did you find this? Some book?" she asked with an unassumingly kind voice.

Charlie licked his lips. "I saw it in Americanada."

"Where?" snapped Mei a little too quickly.

"I don't know. I don't remember."

Mei took a deep breath and leaned in closer to Charlie. "Do you really not remember? Are you not telling me something?"

Charlie couldn't take the staredown. "Mum, please don't be mad. Mark had this idea that if we went there, we'd find some people like him, but Mum, it was fine, really. The woman- she didn't do anything. She just let us go."

Mei couldn't help it. She took Charlie in her arms. "Thank God you're still alive. My poor little baby stuck up in there." She just couldn't figure out what Bennet had done. To let him go with his memories intact was a shady move indeed.

"Are you going to tell me what it says? I'll look it up later, anyway." Charlie broke out from his mother's arms and flattened his hair.

"Ah, well," said Mei, looking weary again. "You've forgotten a line just at the end of this first character, but it's 'ken,' meaning like er... a s-sword or something. The second one is 'sei,' meaning holy or sacred, or maybe-"

"Saint," blinked Charlie, almost smiling. "Kensei. Sword saint. The one title given to the one Japanese swordsman that was so skilled that he was almost godly. I remember it from school. But, it was a name as well. Takezo Kensei." He looked suspiciously at his mother. "Did you know him?"

Mei could barely look at her son. She said with a strong caution, "Y-yes..."

* * *

**A/N:** Early update for the sudden flood of reviews, thank you very much, darlings. This chapter, I know, was just a technical cleaning up chapter, but I spent a whole lot of time thinking up the ability organizational system, with the categories, sub-categories, and levels. Yes, it is a flawed system or rather, a messy system where some powers are put under two or more tiers or even different groups, but I did think pretty deeply into it even though it only runs in the background of the story. I was quite sure I was right too, but now that we know Nathan was a synthetic, and Gabriel's a Petrelli, things make a heck of a lot more sense, and it's basically proven that inter-breeding does make for more powerful powers and that similar powers run in the family. Oh, well.

Secondly is that I did do some extensive research to find the symbols for "ken" and "sei," so that comment Mei makes about there "a line just at the end" is absolutely true. This also proves that I have way, way too much time on my hands, but this was in the summer and doesn't quite still apply.

I also have come up with titles for each part, and lamely they are "The Monroes" followed by (respectively): April Showers, Summer Days, Autumn Leaves, and Winter Nights. It seemed to fit fair enough because they are four parts and four seasons, but they also fit within the moods of each season. Part One is a new beginning, with the WTI rising to power, Part Two is more carefree with Michael and Charlie living in Adam's utopia, and of course I can't really tell you of Parts Three and Four.

I think I will split them up in the next few days once everyone should be aware that** I AM SPLITTING PARTS ONE AND TWO UP INTO SEPARATE FANFICTIONS BEFORE THE NEXT CHAPTER**. Thank you. I hate using caps lock, but I fear that I will get a bunch of PMs of confused people that skim, like I usually do. Thanks, again, to all my wonderful readers!


	11. The Poached Egg

**A/N:**

Well.

I think this kind of thing needs to be said before the chapter, rather than after, considering the events of last episode. Episode six for those of you who had forgotten.

Well.

There are quite a few things I would like to say, but I'm not sure there are any words that can accurately express them. Effectively, I do believe that the right words to say are no words to say at all. That was exactly what I said when I say my favorite character withering to dust right on my televison screen. The sad thing is that I should've saw it coming. I should've saw it coming when David Anders was always listed as a guest star and when Norrington died, because that just makes my fanfiction something like a curse. Like a Death Note. I always do seem to pick the again-the-grain, actually fucking round characters that are seriously entertaining. Adam was entertaining until the very end, wasn't he? So damn funny...

Well.

Well, what the hell, writers? What were you thinking? Okay, I know exactly what you were thinking! Introduce the S3 Villain by having him kill the S2 Villain. Perfect! Bloody damn perfect! But, did you have to kill him? Did you really have to? Don't you all love Anders and Adam enough to keep them on the show? Dammit.

On a happier note, nice to see Peter finally get bitchslapped. And lovely for me to write ten chapters ahead, as it may be a while for me to get on track. I'm still hopeful, remembering Mrs. Petrelli's prophetic dream, but the writers haven't been writing coherently, so there goes that. Oh, sigh...

Without further ado, I present Chapter Eleven:

**Chapter Eleven: The Poached Egg**

The alarm clock blared and blinked 4:30. Without a moment more to think, the man slapped it off, and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

"Daring, no. Please, don't go," the voice behind him mumbled. An arm searched around his middle and then tried to pull him back into the bed.

Adam yawned and stretched. "I've got to go back in today. I've got things to do."

"You're retired. You shouldn't be going in at all. The sun's not even up." Kate crawled up and placed her arms around him, rubbing her cheek upon his neck, breathing in the smell that she never got tired of. "Please, darling. Please."

He couldn't help to look at her, being all frazzled and generally in a mess that was so very different than what she looked like during the day. He took her hands and kissed the fingers. "I suppose I can spare ten more minutes," he said.

* * *

The alarm clock showed seven, but the bedroom was already empty.

"So you've said you've got things to do?" yawned Kate, dropping two eggs in a bath of hot water. "What sort?"

Adam looked through his carousel of ties in the closet, a few rooms away. "Public appearance. Today's the kick-off for the blood drive, to be broadcasted around every Self-Healer group, as to humble them to send a half litre or two our way."

"But you don't want the colony to survive." She started on the toast.

He picked up a dark violet tie. "That's right," he said. "Why do you think I bother?" He swung over to the kitchen and tasted a finger of the sauce. "My, that's lovely."

"Joseph," Kate grabbed his arm, but then stepped into him closer. "Please, try to be careful. One mis-step and it's the whole world against you."

"Well, then don't worry," he kissed her forehead. "That would already be the case if I didn't have half the world with me. Anyway, I am quite the dancer," Adam pulled her one arm out and started to waltz.

Kate started to laugh as she tried danced with him, and she just couldn't stop herself from smiling, but after a few minutes are fun, he mentioned that her eggs were burning.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you-- my parents called yesterday," said Kate, assembling her toast, the half-burnt eggs, and the Hollandaise sauce.

"And you said...?" Adam was now seated at the table with a set of silverware and a newspaper next to him. He didn't touch the newspaper.

Kate brought the two plates in. "I said the place was absolutely wonderful, and everything was going great, if not just a bit lonely, having this big house all to myself." Her eyes twinkled.

"Perfect," breathed Adam sarcastically. "Now they'll be popping in every other day, and I'll be best friends with the inside of your closet."

"No, you don't have to. I've got to tell them somehow." Kate's cheery mood started to fade as she finished pouring two glasses of orange juice and sat down for breakfast.

* * *

"A little more light please, Eric... Ah, too much... Yeah, not in my eyes... But, you know, still on my face, I've got a good angle here... There! Right there! Perfect!" Patricia Schumacher smiled brilliantly and gave a thumbs up to her cameraman, who gave a roll of the eyes and went back down to check his handiwork through his viewfinder.

He then put his hand up as to better hear his earpiece, and gave Patricia a "three... two... " and then a point.

"Good Morning, people of Americanada, and what a great morning it is!"

Patricia started to back away from center view to show the scene before her. There were many more reporters, cameramen, and generally just people that were behind a velvet rope, but seemed to be in a forest, all circled around a central point. That central point was a bolted steel door on the base of a steep slope.

"Finally, today, after a very long process of medical research, we will be seeing the first non-evolved humans exit their colony. I wish absolutely that everyone in the world is here, because the energy in this place is just astounding. Look-" she walked off camera and pointed to her left. "Look, there's even a crowd of people, cheering, welcoming these poor people back into the world."

The crowd of people cheered harder when the camera went on them.

Patricia checked her watch and the camera snapped back to her. "It is about quarter of noon here, at Shaefer Head, about two hundred miles west of Philadelphia. We're expecting them to come out about noon. If you've missed our earlier broadcast, a man entered the colony about seven hours ago. That man was Mark Finchley, a former occupant of this colony, who, in July of last year, had courageously left it in search of a way for his people to leave their sub-human living conditions, and by God, he found it."

"Here-" She ran over in front of another broadcast, and took the young man being interviewed by the sleeve to the front of her camera. "We have Charles Ferguson, a man who was key to finding that miracle. Mr. Ferguson, will you tell us your miraculous story?"

"Well, I was on holiday in Americanada, just to see the sights, and-" Charlie looked sort of confused, and looked back to the place he was pulled out of, but somehow decided it was alright anyway. "And I found Mark, nearly dead, just lying on the street and-"

"They're coming! They're coming out!" Patricia pushed Charlie out of the camera's way to get a good view of the door. The cheers and flashes of the cameras turned wild, and it seemed the whole mountainside might fall off for the amount of noise.

Through all of the excitement, the sickly pale head of a girl popped out of the door. Once she saw the erupting screams and the continuous flashes, she went back in again.

A man from the crowd shouted something to the effect of, "Quiet down! Yous scared her!" and all of the spectators considered this, and followed the advice. The forest wasn't silent, but was significantly more quiet now, with only whispers and mutters and a few camera flashes.

This time, a woman, still as skinny and white as the first girl, stepped out. She carried the child in her arms and rubbed her eyes at the hundred or so people that were staring breathlessly at her. Nervously, she gave a kind of wave.

The crowd roared again, although most of the noise was from applause.

"Incredible," Patricia's tearing voice was caught off-camera.

Little by little, the colonists came out in a sort of line. There didn't come out in any particular order, and there were men, women, teens, and children, all looking skinny and pale, but generally very cheerful. They smiled and waved as they moved off to the corner to let more people out, and soon the crowd slid off to the part of the velvet rope that was nearest to that corner, snapping pictures and asking crazy questions. Each reporter grabbed their own and started the interviews. The colonists did look overwhelmed, but they always looked very happy.

Patricia, however, was an experienced reporter. She held Charlie by the sleeve and waited patiently.

"Charlie! Charlie! This is it! We did it!" The only tanned man to come out from the door, did so running, and ran right into his best friend, giving him a big hug and smooch on the cheek.

"Mr. Finchley, I see these people are not yet being administered the supposed cure. What are your plans?" Patricia jammed the microphone in his face.

Mark took the microphone readily. "We're not supposed to, yet. See, what the cure does is completely wipe the virus from the person, but after that, they're still able to be infected again. Our aim is to expose the person as much as possible to the virus, and after sixty hours, or two and a half days, we will stick 'em with the cure. We'll do it two more times, every sixty hours, to give their immune system enough time to get used to the virus to learn how to fight it, but not enough time for the virus to completely overtake their system. They should be fine in about a week, which is the longest time that any evolved human has been showing symptoms for at any one occasion." He couldn't seem to stop smiling, and Charlie smiled as well, putting his arm on his shoulder.

"So we'll be seeing you in a week?"

"Yes, Ma'am," grinned Mark.

"Alrighty, then." She elbowed the two beaming faces out of the way, and faced the camera head on with a smile that could compete with them both. "While these colonists just keep on pouring out, let's head back to John with the weather! John, how sunny will New York be today?"

* * *

**A/N:** Trust me, I'm better now than I was last night. It's an odd sort of feeling, thinking about one character non-stop for about three months, and then... that happening. ... The only other thing I have to say is that Shaefer Head is an actual mountain, and people in Pennsylvania do say, "yous." Yes, I know.

Actually, no I really don't. Assuming that this chapter splitting does work, would you give a review to this very hungry story? Thank you, eternally.


	12. Charlie

**Chapter Twelve: Charlie**

A spring sunset against an ocean horizon, Charlie decided, was the most beautiful thing that a person could see. It was just perfect, with all the mix of warm oranges and reds and the way the clouds balanced out the sky, not to mention the way the water made it twice as incredible.

However, the most incredible about it all, was the people there, all now either sunburnt or with completely normal skin from the entire day that they spent there. The children, who just this morning were toeing the water, then screaming away from the crashing waves, were now yelling and laughing, jumping and bobbing their heads in and out of the water. Quite a few adults were in the water as well, but many were off on the beach, enjoying an ocean sunset that they never thought they would ever see again.

A set of plopping feet came down the sand road behind him. "Where were you?" asked Charlie. "I had to oversee the last set of injections myself."

"Another meeting with Mr. Allen," Mark ripped off a piece of the beef jerky stick he held in his hand, and sat down on the log, reading Charlie's expression. "I don't know why you don't like him. He's a fine guy, though just a bit intimidating. I mean, for me to miss the last set, we must've spent hours talking, and I didn't even realize it."

Charlie sighed and shook his head. "I just don't know about him, having secret meetings with you--"

"Charlie, relax. He just doesn't want to be in the public eye again, which is why he uses me to pass on things to the colony and the Committee. He does care, and don't you ever believe that Company lady for one second. That's just rude." Mark started chewing on another piece when he started rubbing his arm.

"Sweet!" he yelled.

Nice way to drop the subject, thought Charlie. "What?"

Mark itched his arm faster. "I think I've got my first bug bite!" he laughed.

Charlie rolled his eyes and yawned. "Have you even looked up at the sunset? Look at that, it's gorgeous."

Mark did look up at the sunset, squinting. "Nah," he decided. "Too much like a picture or a painting. It's just too unreal."

"And what do you know of reality? You've been living under a mountain for the past twenty years."

"Who's to say that wasn't reality? It was real enough to me. I could touch the walls, feel the cold, smell the air filter residue, just hear people talking and talking. But here," he laid on his back, "I feel every texture, every tree and rock and animal. Sometimes it's cold, sometimes it's hot. And the entire world of smells and sounds! You don't know, Charlie. You don't appreciate how many sounds there are to hear." He took a bite of his jerky. "And the food, too! God, the endless supply of tastes and food!"

"It's unreal. It's just too unreal. Like a dream, I guess. Even from months of it, I don't think I can take it all." Mark started rubbing his arm again. "Have you gotten a bug bite before? It's amazing what some insects can do!"

Charlie nodded and laid back. "Amazing," he echoed.

* * *

"Shut up! You're going to tell me what the fuck is happening! Now!"

Charlie stared with dark eyes at the head doctor, who had his eyes glued on to his report. "Mrs. O'Reely is dead," he said, "and others are growing weaker by the minute."

Anyone could see the second part of that. It was four in the morning and all down the dark black street of beach hotels that the Governor of Los Angeles had so kindly provided, there were the young, the elderly, and the weak of the colonists, all crying and tossing and turning on the sidewalk. The wind whipped at their hair and clothes.

"No!" roared Charlie. "That isn't right! Seven days and three injections, and they should all be fine! It hasn't been twelve hours since the last dose, so they can't even be showing anymore symptoms yet! What's gone wrong?" The wind blew hard, but he didn't mind the cold. This was unreal. This wasn't happening.

"I don't know! Will you stop asking? Nobody knows!" the head doctor roared back.

"Well, why aren't you saving them? Give 'em another injection!"

"There are no more injections. The project was so rushed that there was no time to acquire extra. Exactly six hundred thirty six people by three injections each."

Charlie's eyes were beginning to water. "Well, then get some more!"

The head doctor was getting really annoyed. "Yeah, let's just go to the magical tree and get twenty liters of self-healer blood!"

The cries were getting louder as more people were bringing their loved ones to the street to be treated. You could see who were the doctors by their white lab coats, but all they did was try their healing ability on the infected. Of course, it was well-known by now that healers could not do anything about the virus.

"Dr. Bolton! Dr. Bolton, Sir," a young woman, dressed with a white coat ran up to the head doctor with a stack of papers. "I've got the results here. It's not the virus. It's a virus, yes, but it's not the same one- perhaps it's a mutation of some kind. Has the exact same symptoms, but it acts much faster. Here," she handed him the report, and he put on his glasses and quickly skimmed it.

Charlie, however, was already gone. "Teleporter? Has anyone seen a teleporter! I need a teleporter! Please, I-" The whole street was only of doctors and sick people.

"Charlie! Hey, Charlie!"

He spotted Mark on his side at the end of a curb. An older man and a woman were kneeled by him. The mother was shaking, on the verge of tears.

"Mark? What is it? Why are you sick?" Charlie kneeled down beside him. "The virus has only hit the weakest. You should be the last to be infected."

Mark tried laughed his same laugh, but it crackled. "Guess it just likes me," he said, coughing and trying to roll on his side.

This wasn't happening. This- no, it couldn't be happening. "Mark, listen. It's not the Virus. It's something different, something the doctors haven't seen before."

"Yeah?" That was all that Mark said. His face was a sickly white and his expression was blank, though he smiled, as to assure Charlie that his tears were unnecessary.

It just made Charlie cry harder. He kissed and rubbed Mark's hand. "Don't worry, I just need to find a teleporter. I'll get Mr. Allen and get you another injection. Just hold on, you'll be fine."

"Charlie--" Mark grabbed at the bottom of Charlie's trousers as he got up. "Have I ever mentioned how much you look like the Virgin Mary?"

He knelt back down. It made Mark lose his smile and adopt a very confused expression.

"Yeah. I mean, your face... it's just like her's," he lifted his fingers to feel Charlie's cheek.

Charlie couldn't say a word. He took up Mark's hand again, and couldn't stop himself from shaking and sobbing. Mark's parents were in the same state. They all knew the same thing, so there was nothing to say.

They cried and they stayed until the very end.

* * *

**A/N:** I hate to do this. I really hate to put this on yous, but... sorry. I do remember writing this (as many months ago as it was) and feeling really sort of strange and depressed afterwards. Maybe it was because I was too tired. Anyway, keep sending in reviews since incidentally, this part will be ending quite soon. Hopefully, I'll pick up more readers with the premiere of Part Three.


	13. The Reality

**Chapter Thirteen: The Reality**

It was raining, not because of an unlikely coincidence, but because the president of Americanada commissioned it to be so for the day in memoriam of the six hundred and thirty-six jars of ashes that were to be spread over the Pacific Ocean. Well, that is to say, six hundred and thirty-six small handfuls of ashes, as the Pacific Marine Environment Protection Association had carried out a very convincing petition of the act. The rest of the ashes were to be buried in a special section of the San Diego's Mount Hope Cemetery.

Charlie had been completely against this. He said countless times that it was ludicrous to bury a community that had spent their lives underground, but his pleas were ignored.

He was now at the ceremony, standing very quietly with a light blue urn in his hands. A few of the public were there, politely listening to the priest talk about something or another. More than half of the people there were reporters and cameramen, who acted just as polite. When the time came, the rows of urns were lowered into a giant pit, and they lowered their heads in respect as the priest spoke his final prayers.

Charlie didn't cry. He had been all cried out since at least a week ago, which was a week after the morning when the sun rose and all of them were dead, all six hundred and thirty seven of them. He just stood and tightly held Mark's ashes. He wasn't going back into the ground. Charlie intended to spread him around the many places of the world that he hadn't the chance to see.

The last of the community was in the pit and a pair of geokinetics smoothed a layer of mud over them. Soon after, the public and the reporters broke the silence with their conversation on what to have for dinner and started to leave.

"Are you alright?"

Charlie looked over his shoulder to see Dana. Michael was far behind her, trying to calm down their daughter. He turned back to the grave and shook his head. "I never could understand you before, why anything could cause a person to lose their will to speak," he swallowed hardly, "but I know now."

Dana didn't have anything to say, so she resorted into giving her brother-in-law a hug of comfort, which he gladly accepted. However, the moment couldn't last.

"I don't think- I mean, I can't... I just don't know. How did you get over it? How could you get yourself talking again?" he asked.

Dana looked wearily at the grave. "I just did. I told myself that there were millions of people devastated by the same virus and they had just come to terms with what had happened and moved on. Who was I to be a mute when there were people who had lost their whole world, but turned out relatively fine? If God let me live, then there must be a reason for it. I must have some other purpose than to mope around and feel sorry for myself."

"God?" said Charlie incredulously. "It wasn't God."

"What?"

He repeated, this time through his teeth. "It wasn't God."

* * *

"Adam Monroe."

Adam stopped in his tracks, smirked a bit, and turned on his heel to face the figure that stood behind him. With a lazy stare at the young man, he snapped his fingers.

"Dante," said Adam to the suited man who had appeared beside him. "Take a half hour break for breakfast. And enjoy yourself, won't you?" he spoke smoothly, eyes avoiding the person that had confronted him.

His guard gave a short nod and disappeared half a second later.

The figure shifted its stance. "What did you do that for? Don't you know why I'm here?"

"Of course, Charlie, of course," spoke Adam. "I just thought I would give you a leg up, since you're family and all. But, a perfect score for the location. Very original. Most people tend to murder others in the dead of night, in a dark alleyway, but I'm sure some are killed at this time as well."

It was the early morning, and although the sun had not yet risen, light was peeking through the horizon. Adam himself was dressed in a gray t-shirt with blue jeans and sneakers. They were at the side of a park with things like swing sets and see-saws just a few steps away. It was outside of any residential places, and not many would be out this early with rain clouds like that.

The individual started with a dry voice. "So did you do it? With Mark and his community just as you did Year Zero?"

"Yes," he responded without a beat. "If you have been wondering, you aren't the first by far. Hundreds have come before me like you are here today, all with their own stories of how I had killed their parents, their families, their loved ones, and how they were going to take revenge on me."

He grinned and laughed a little. "You can see how that worked out for them. But, I must say, Charlie, of all people, I would've never expected you to stand there with that dark look upon your face. Michael, perhaps, but not you. Imagine, my own blood..." He paused with a sigh. "So, are you ready? I'm going to tell you the same exact thing I told all of them. Or, at least, the ones curious enough to hear why I did it. Why I killed nearly nine billion people?"

Adam saw no change from the cold stare he received, so he continued, "Charlie, before Year Zero, the world was simply overpopulated. Half the world was starving in mud huts while the other half pumped pollution into the air and worked jobs they hated for money they couldn't have enough of until they worked themselves into their graves. They were living lives without meaning, without purpose. Life was just terrible.

"But now, this," he took his hand and presented the neighborhood, "this is how beautiful it is now. People have enormous houses with large plots of land. There is plenty of food and no one has starved in decades. In fact, the standard of living of living has skyrocketed. People are being civilized and educated, and everyone has a place. Everyone has something to offer the world, and they use that ability to get paid and live rich, full lives. Forests are growing back, the atmosphere is balancing itself out, and suddenly, the world is cured again."

"Just at the cost of 99.9% of the entire human population?"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Charlie, the root of all evil is people. People, in general, are stupid. They die before they can fully attempt to find a meaning to life and therefore live lives of complete waste. But once you take away nine billion half-lives, you're left with nine million enriched lives full of purpose. The ones who were strong enough realized that they were special, that God saved them for a reason. And then, they start living. They start enjoying life to the fullest with no further thoughts of it except, 'What a tragedy for all those people to die. But... it's better this way.'"

The figure looked seriously offended. "'Better this way?' Nobody says that!"

"You're right, they don't say it. They think it." Adam's eyes grew. "And not a one of them has to know anything more than that it was God's will. It was God who did it. Just like on Noah's Ark, when He flooded the world and killed all but a handful. No one still feels bad about that.

"Know why I pressed to ban time travel? So people that have the power to go back and stop the virus, don't have the responsibility to go back and stop the virus. They can go on just being grateful for what life God has spared of them." He took a step forward, while the other took a step back. "That is my gift to the world. The only people that have to have to hold that guilt is me and the ones who planned it. The rest of them can go on and live in ignorant bliss."

The other started shaking its head, unsure what to say. "So that's it? You're completely mad! You're just a sick son of a bitch!" A gun was drew and was pointed right at Adam's head.

Adam looked amused, and he licked his lips. "And why would Charlie need a gun? Aren't you afraid to show your true self?"

The figure paused for a second, but the area around it swirled, revealing a woman with white blond hair, although the gun was still pointed right at his face.

Her eyes started to tear as she said, "You've done so much to me. You've brought me so much pain. I was just a little girl when my whole family died right before my eyes, and right when I was finally normal, Charlie told me that there was a man to blame for all of it."

Adam was frozen, but still with a crooked smile on his face. "Don't you have a child yourself? Do you want her to share your fate? They'll cart you off right away, Dana. You'll be in court tomorrow for the murder of a former world leader..."

"Shut your mouth!" Dana's gun shook with both of her hands, and she took some measures to take in deeper breaths. "I can't be so selfish. If I don't kill you now, you'll just kill some more, won't you? You'll kill all of the non-evolved, and then you'll start pruning your own species to make your perfect race.

He shrugged, not denying any of it.

Dana squinted very suddenly. For a moment, she stopped, considering her next move, but went with her first instinct, moved her aim to the very right of Adam, and pulled the trigger.

A ball of electric blue current shot out and stopped short at a point just beside him. There was a gut-wrenching groan and not a moment later, a man was sprawled upon the ground with smoke coming from under his blazer and a sickening sizzle with a smell to match it.

Adam scowled, looking upon his unfortunate body guard, but Dana cocked her gun again and aimed it at him properly, taking a step forward. He looked up at her stone cold face, and his amused expression melted.

He took a step backward and paused, with wide eyes that seemed to twitch. His fingers trembled together as he snapped them three or more times in rapid succession. "Imagine," he swallowed and kept on, "a poor little girl who had never known her dear mother. Crying... weeping..."

Dana said nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth to stop herself from shaking, aiming right at Adam's head.

For the second time, she pulled the trigger.

**End of Part Two**

* * *

**A/N: **Hey peeps, what's crackin'? Heroes tonight, and I'm grimly saying that I will be watching even though I'm infinitely less enthusiastic as I was before. So this is the End of Part Two, meaning Part Three should be up in some time, and yes I will post the link-ish up on this page. I hope you enjoyed this installment of The Monroes, and it would be greatly appreciated if you could write up a review, even if you didn't like it. I mean, especially if you didn't like it since we're all writers/readers here and thrive in criticism to make our writings better. Feel free to send a PM if your criticism may seem too harsh to show up with the rest of the reviews.

**The Monroes: Autumn Leaves (Part Three)** available here: /s/4627949/1/


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